The Morning After, Oliver Awakens

The simple motion of trying to sit up wreaked havoc on Oliver’s internal gyro and made his stomach twist, threatening to empty itself. Pushing the sweat soaked blankets off his body, he noticed he was naked save for his boxer briefs as he swung legs off the bed. He was back in his room. Leaning forward and quelling the urge to projectile vomit, he held his pounding head a moment to steady the vertigo before looking over to Cam’s side of the room. It was bare. Frowning, Oliver puckered his face. All of Cameron’s belongings were gone. Everything, the clothes, the posters, everything, just gone, like it had never even been there. Even the bedsheets and pillows had been removed.

Summoning his strength, he lurched up onto his feet, rocking back and forth slightly to combat the waves of nausea rolling in his stomach. Where the heck was Cam? He tried to assemble the tattered bits and pieces of disjointed memory from last night into some sort of coherent sense. They had gone to Omega Pi, he remembered that distinctly. The room, the girls, Vesper, the drink and then nothing. Flashes. Light? Laughter, girls laughing. He had only been hammered drunk once before in his life at Aunt Lou’s two years back but this felt like ten thousand times worse.

Looking at his hands, he still had the pink bands on his right wrist. Needing to piss, he shambled toward the door, grabbing his housecoat and slipping it on over his shoulders before venturing out into the hall. Everything was quiet. What time was it? Early. At least it felt early. Using the wall to aid him, Oliver shuffled to the washroom and over to a bank of urinals, leaning his head against the glossy tiles before commencing to urinate. Closing his eyes, his head began to swim and he immediately snapped them back open. “Where the heck was Cam and why were all of his possessions gone?

Finished peeing, he ambled over to the counter with a half dozen sinks and washed his hands, looking at his bedraggled reflection in the mirror. Not only did he feel like crap, he looked dreadful, eyes bleary and bloodshot.

Leaning forward, he cupped water into his hands and splashed it on his face, hoping it would make him feel less like death.

Another dorm dweller walked in dressed in a robe, Tony or Antonio, Oliver couldn’t remember his name.

The youth grinned at him, “Dude, you like hammered shit, I mean seriously,” he chuckled, sliding by and moving toward the showers at the far end of the room.

Nodding, Oliver worked his way slowly back toward his room, his body manufacturing a thin sheen of perspiration all over as a reward for his effort. Why did he feel like he had been hit by a freight train?

Back in his room, he returned to his bed and sat down, putting a hand down to either side to steady himself and stop the room from twirling. Everything Cam owned was gone, he hadn’t imagined it. Was it a gaff, someone pulling some college humor style prank? Had he been roofied? Maybe something in the drink the girls gave him? No, if his memory was to be trusted, they all drank it too. What happened? How did he get back to the dorm? Where was Cam?

Smacking his lips together, he looked to his side of the room, spying his pants neatly folded on the chair and his shirt draped around the backrest. Someone had undressed him and put him to bed. Who? The digital clock on the stand beside his bed read 11:48. His phone was on his desk, though it hadn’t been plugged in through the night. Leaning forward, he took the device in hand, hoping there was still some a little juice left in it, at least enough to fire off a message or two. Pressing the button on the side, it came to life. Calling up Cam’s name, he typed ‘Where you at?’ and hit send before putting the phone back down.

Groaning, he rolled his eyes. He desperately needed a shower, something to try and invigorate him or at least to restore some of his energy. Releasing another pent up breath, he got back to his feet and shuffled toward where his clean towel blue bath towel was hanging. Grabbing it, he slung it over his shoulder before grabbing his soap dish and bottle of shampoo.

Finding an empty stall, Oliver turned on the water, the incessant patter of the spray against the tiles echoing loudly through his aching head as he hung up his towel and removed his robe. Stepping into the hot jet, he lowered his head, allowing the stream to douse him. It felt so amazingly good he tarried for nearly twenty minutes before shutting it off. He still felt gnarly, but at least it was more manageable. Toweling off, he returned to his room.

Wandering over to Cam’s vacant side of the room, he pulled open the drawers on the desk. All bare. The closet too was empty, not even a single hanger there. Frowning, he shook his head. Walking back to the door, he opened it and looked to the side of the frame at the tape with their names on it. Cam’s name gone. WTF?

Returning inside, he closed the door and spent a few minutes getting himself dressed. Picking up his phone again, he called up Sersei’s contact and texted her, ‘Something weird is going on, have you seen Cam?’ He kept the phone in his hand a minute, half expecting, half hoping she would respond expeditiously, but she didn’t. His stomach rumbled and then turned. Hungry and nauseous at the same time was not a pleasant sensation, but he knew he needed some fuel in the tank if he wanted to get better. Getting back to his feet, he turned up the ringtone on his phone and slipped into his hip pocket.

The closest place was probably Cup of Joe’s across the way where Cam had said he‘d run into Allie.